


Shake Like Penions

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, hair!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: “I got to thinkin’ about it,” he explained all in a rush, trying to work through his reasoning before the wary exasperation in Vasquez's gaze won out over the fondness, “and I figure if my throat were worth more to most men slit than otherwise, I wouldn't invite a stranger’s hand to hold a blade up to it, either.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, a lovely Anon asked for the following:
> 
> _" I love your stuff so much could you possibly write vasquez/faraday, one giving the other a haircut, and it's very sweet and domestic and fluffy. ;-;"_
> 
> As per fuckin' usual I got carried away, and I liked the final product enough that I decided it could stand on its own rather than live in Two Thousand Little Kisses.
> 
> The title is a reference to a Baudelaire poem titled aptly, 'Her Hair.'
> 
> Not beta-read, may be edited later. Enjoy, darlings! <33

“Ought to’ve come down with me, if it’s botherin’ you so much, darlin’,” Faraday drawled, grinning amiably when Vasquez glared at him from across the room.

The outlaw had a hand in his mop of dark hair, thick curls twisting through his fingers as he pushed it back up out of his eyes, presumably to better study the sheaf of paper he’d been bent over for the greater part of the morning - some document or another that Chisolm had provided him for translation. They didn't travel together all seven of them at all times, mostly only reuniting in force when there was a job at hand that required all of their particular talents, but Faraday could admit to a preference for days like these - he and Vasquez, who tended to appear as though they’d been crawling through the scrub for weeks no matter how recently they’d washed or dressed, taking advantage of some of their companions’ more genteel manner, with reputation and coin enough between them to get a room all to themselves for once.

It was such a seemingly inconsequential thing, to be afforded a small measure of privacy rather than bunking in with a handful of equally rough-edged strangers, and many of the folk Faraday had met in his life would have laughed at the thought that a closed door could have quite so profound an impact on a man’s good humor. To Faraday - who had endeavored to live somewhat harder than many - and Vasquez - whose unfortunate luck mandated that he live significantly rougher than most - it was a gift, and the lingering soreness in Faraday’s hips, his thighs, and other places of considerably more salacious repute spoke well to their efforts to appreciate it fully.

Never one to be particularly sparing where indulgence was concerned, Faraday had also taken the opportunity to treat himself to a visit to the local barber. He couldn't be bothered even to feign at shaving most days, when they were miles beyond anybody’s company but their own and Vasquez didn't especially care either way, but there was a certain foppish satisfaction in a clean jaw, face warm and smooth and smelling like lilacs. He’d had them tidy up his hairline, too, going so far as to slick it back in the current fashion and commit to keeping his hat tucked under his arm all the way back to the boardinghouse to avoid the risk of mussing it.

He’d invited Vasquez along - as he did anytime the two of them dropped into civilization long enough to merit a token attempt at blending in amongst polite society - but Vasquez had declined, like always. The outlaw had taken to keeping himself mostly bare-cheeked on Chisolm’s recommendation - it was, after all, much harder to put a face to a name when all the Wanted posters called for a man with a full beard - but his heritage was such that in the span of a day or two he’d be bristled from cheek to cheek anyway. He’d put forth an effort upon their arrival in town, face bare the day they’d ridden in though his jaw was well-shadowed by now. He made quite a pretty picture, actually; buttery morning sun setting his shirt aglow where it hung slightly away from his body, gauzy golden light defining the wiry lines of him underneath the soft linen; picking out highlights in his wild curls where they tumbled down around his face, threading the dark strands through with hues of russet and deep red.

By now, nearly a full year removed from their heroic last stand at Rose Creek, the sweetly tufting curls that had stuck out over his ears back then were well on their way to ringlets, longer even than Billy kept his hair, spilling over his collar and nearly brushing his shoulders in places. Faraday didn't mind it so much - he liked the way Vasquez’s hair felt when he pulled on it, the way it slipped soft and thick through his fingers while Vasquez dozed against his chest, how it framed his face in gently waving curtains while he rocked into Faraday deep and slow on nights when they could manage the intimacy - but it was obvious that Vasquez possessed no preference for the maidenly locks. In the absence of a hat to hold them in place he was forever pushing the dark curls out of his face, huffing exasperatedly and trying to get the stubborn waves to settle behind his ears, each glossy coil almost as uncooperative and strong-willed as the man himself.

“This ain't a city barber, sweetheart,” Faraday continued, running a lightly oiled cloth along Maria’s barrel. “They’ll take any fella walks in so long as his pockets got a little weight to ‘em. Plenty of time yet if you want to get cleaned up.”

“Está bien,” Vasquez responded, clipped and sharp. “Let it alone, guero.”

“Suit yourself,” Faraday replied easily. “Only don’t be surprised when some kind-hearted group of do-gooders tries to rescue the lovely señorita we appear to have kidnapped.”

Vasquez glowered at him, eyes glinting fiercely, mouth pulled down into a furious scowl. Faraday let his grin sprawl, lazy and cocksure.

“What?” he teased, winking. “Skinny as you are under that mane of yours, it’s an easy mistake to make at a distance.”

“We’ll see what mistakes you make next time you’re asking this señorita to fuck you, pendejo,” Vasquez grumbled, hunching his shoulders and sinking his fingers into his hair again, tangling it up in his fist to keep it out of his eyes as he glared down at the papers on the table.

Faraday barked a laugh, setting Maria aside and wiping his fingers clean with an oil-streaked rag.

“ _Lovely_ señorita,” he corrected, grinning gleefully when Vasquez sneered at him from the table. For a wanted outlaw he was also an eminently reasonable man, and it lit a thrill in Faraday’s belly whenever he managed to rile that carefully banked temper, goad Vasquez to biting.

“Plenty of real señoritas in town to scratch your itch if that's what you’re looking for, guero,” Vasquez muttered darkly. “I’m sure they have one just as lovely at the cathouse.” He made a show of glancing out the window, gauging the time by the warm light streaming in past the curtains. “It’s early enough yet that you shouldn't be too drunk to find your way.”

Faraday rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, rising to his feet.

“Ain’t no señoritas in town lovelier’n you and you know it,” he assured easily, coming to settle at Vasquez’s side. The outlaw glared up at him, mutinous and furious with his dark curls cascading sweetly around his face. Faraday sighed, let his smirk soften a bit as he tugged gently at one of them. “Why don't you let me take care of these for you, darlin’? It’s clear you ain’t got any fondness for ‘em.”

Vasquez huffed a laugh, indignation melting into amusement as he turned to nudge his cheek against Faraday’s fingers. Faraday obligingly opened up his hand, curling his palm around Vasquez’s jaw, letting his thumb catch for a brief second against Vasquez’s lush lower lip.

“What are you going to do, guero?” he asked, casting a playful smirk up at Faraday, dark eyes warm and glittering impishly. “Shoot them off?”

“I could,” Faraday teased, tugging a little harder, grinning sharp. “If you would ever stand still for more’n two seconds at a time.”

Vasquez scoffed and rolled his eyes. Faraday ran his thumb along the elegant arc of Vasquez’s cheekbone, heat in his belly climbing at the way Vasquez shuddered and sighed.

“I had something a little less adventurous in mind,” he admitted quietly. Vasquez arched an eyebrow at him, mouth tilting into a curious, lopsided smirk. Faraday sighed and brought his other hand up so that he had Vasquez’s face cupped in his palms, let his touch linger for a moment before he reached up to card his fingers through Vasquez’s thick, dark mop of hair.

“The barber has an apprentice,” Faraday explained gently. “Addle-headed little fella, forever misplacing his things, so I was told.” He wagged his eyebrows, let his grin spread broad and mischievous. “It is entirely possible that I may have stumbled my way into ownership of a pair of very fine barber’s shears for unrelated reasons.”

“Guero - ” Vasquez started, but Faraday shushed him with the quick, tender press of a thumb against his mouth.

“I got to thinkin’ about it,” he explained all in a rush, trying to work through his reasoning before the wary exasperation in Vasquez's gaze won out over the fondness, “and I figure if my throat were worth more to most men slit than otherwise, I wouldn't invite a stranger’s hand to hold a blade up to it, either.” He licked his lips, dry and a little nervous.

They didn't talk outright about the bounty that Vasquez was ducking. For a fellow who enjoyed jawing quite as much as Vasquez did, he was notoriously tight-lipped about whatever circumstances had led him up to this point; to the law determining his life’s worth and posting it up on paper all across the frontier. His temper went sore and sour whenever anybody so much as hinted at it, dark edge of menace rising up through his genial humor like a snake through the grass, hissing and volatile, warning curious wanderers to tread elsewhere.

Faraday - who despite his exceeding fondness for idle chatter didn't care to talk much when the stakes were high - generally tried to let it alone. Occasionally, when it was just the two of them curled together under the empty sky, tucked in closer than propriety out to allow out in the open, Vasquez would offer little pieces of it, voice heavy with the weight of a past he’d yet to outrun. In these quiet moments, and after, Faraday was more than happy to shoulder some of that burden, occasionally gathering the courage to let a few of his own closely-guarded secrets slip out into the night.

He’d been paying careful attention, weighing options and coaxing out little details, and he was fairly certain he’d struck the nail on the head, so to speak, concerning the root of Vasquez’s obstinate refusal to visit any barbershop in the twenty-odd towns and cities they’d stumbled through over the past year.

“That's it, right?” he pressed gently. “Why you always say no to the barber?”

Vasquez studied him for a long moment, heavy and considering, before he finally nodded.

“Doesn’t seem worth the risk.”

Faraday hummed thoughtfully, tangled the fingers of one hand in the mess of curls at the nape of Vasquez’s neck and reached up to run the other through it again, tucking a lock back behind his ear. Vasquez let his eyes fall shut, tilting his head to the side like he wanted to chase the sensation, dark tendril coiling loose at the motion and slipping back out from where Faraday had left it.

“You reckon if it were someone a mite more trustworthy on the other end of the scissors your choice’d be different?” he asked gently. Vasquez sighed through his nose, brought a hand up to curve around Faraday’s thigh.

“You have somebody in mind?” He dragged his palm absently up and down, heat of it tantalizing even through Faraday’s slacks, and gazed up at him intently, eyes hooded and dancing and dark.

Faraday lifted one shoulder in a shrug, the nerves rattling beneath his skin settling to a low hum when Vasquez reached up to wrap his other hand around Faraday's wrist, dragging his thumb across Faraday’s pulse.

“Can’t do anything fancy, but I might could get it out of your eyes. Leastways ‘til we can find somebody better suited to the task.”

Vasquez smirked up at him, sharp and teasing.

“I thought you liked my hair, guero.”

Faraday rolled his eyes.

“I _do_ like your hair,” he agreed, tightening the grip he had on Vasquez’s curls, tugging his head back a little and savoring the way that his mouth fell open, pupils blown wide, dark heat of them swallowing up the softer warmth of his gaze. “But _you_ don’t.”

“You sound awfully sure of that,” Vasquez breathed. Faraday snorted, mouth tilting up on one side.

“It ain't difficult to guess, you mutterin’ about it and fussin’ at it every hour of the damn day,” he replied. He tugged again, a little gentler, and Vasquez’s fingers tightened sweetly against the meat of his thigh. “Let me cut it for you, darlin’. Just a bit. Won’t be the finest haircut you’ve ever had, but it’s better than nothing.”

Vasquez studied him for a long moment, a tiny furrow at the center of his brow. The soft corners of his mouth quirked slightly and he sighed, canting his head, curls slipping and sliding over one another at the motion, dragging soft against Faraday’s skin where he had his hand yet buried in the thick locks.

“Fine, cariño,” he murmured, squeezing Faraday’s thigh affectionately. “You can cut it.”

Faraday grinned, victorious, and leaned in to steal a kiss - little more than the brief, warm press of their mouths, Vasquez making a sweet, surprised noise as Faraday straightened back up.

“Just a little,” Vasquez clarified, gaze narrowing when Faraday wagged his eyebrows.

“Sure,” Faraday agreed easily. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

He dug the shears out from where he’d stashed them in one of his saddlebags earlier that morning, ducking into their room with his hair newly shorn and feeling like a freshly minted penny. They were heavy and new and obviously well cared for, gleaming starbright in the hazy light of early afternoon. Faraday might have felt guilty about liberating them once upon a time, but any chivalry still alive in him after all these years would indisputably be afforded to the shaggy-haired vaquero watching him warily from across the room before it was offered up to anyone else. He couldn't quite bring himself to regret that, for all that the barber’s apprentice had seemed a good-tempered sort.

He considered Vasquez for a second and then leaned in again, searching underneath the bare handful of spare clothing he carried - one of his own long-sleeved, rough cotton numbers and one of Vasquez’s fine linen shirts; a pair of dark slacks that they traded off ownership of, as neither of them could rightly remember to whom they had originally belonged - for a thick, folded bundle of cloth.

“Ain't got one of those fancy towels for you, but I figure this’ll do to keep you mostly clean.” He shook the cloth out, white fringe dancing along the edge as it unrolled into a little-used horse blanket, done up in bright colors and thick woven strands.

Vasquez snorted.

“Really, guero?” he teased while Faraday settled the blanket around his shoulders. “Going to start calling me Jack? Feed me apples off your palm?”

“You should be so lucky,” Faraday replied with a smirk. He tugged the cloth a bit, adjusting it so that it lay more evenly across the breadth of Vasquez’s shoulders. He thought about the vaquero moments before, quietly admitting the truth behind his reluctance to visit the barber. Taking a breath to steel himself, he added with carefully measured ease, “My pa used to cut our hair before he skipped town. Don't remember much about it to tell true, exceptin’ that it itched something fierce without a cover to keep the trimmings off.”

Vasquez made a small, thoughtful sound as Faraday busied himself with settling and resettling the blanket. Though he likely recognized that the sudden attention to perfectly draping cloth was more to give Faraday an excuse not to meet his eye than any real need, he allowed the pretense without complaint. They were neither of them especially keen on baring their throats, even to each other. Their ham-fisted overtures toward vulnerability rarely succeeded without a certain amount of room to feign that they were conversing on lesser matters like weather or guns or preference of drink. It was an old dance, by this point - the steps familiar enough that they didn’t have to expend much effort to keep time.

Precisely on schedule, Vasquez reached out and curled a palm around Faraday’s thigh, gave a gentle, affectionate squeeze and dragged his thumb softly along the seam of his slacks. He was a creature of touch, Vasquez. Faraday hadn’t managed to suss out yet whether his proclivities toward physical reassurance were a symptom of the time he’d spent in isolation - afraid to turn his back on the entire world, to let anybody near enough to land a killing blow - or if they were a characteristic he’d possessed his entire life. Either way, Faraday was learning to let the small motions settle his nerves, or soothe his ire as the case may be; to let Vasquez under his skin in moments where it counted and trust that any force of will or intent he put forth therein was with Faraday’s wellbeing in mind.

“You're taking this all very seriously, guero,” the outlaw observed after a long moment, a gentle, teasing lilt to his tone. The weight in the still air between them buckled and faded, settling to something more comfortable - a quiet, familiar intimacy that made Faraday’s breath come a little easier, though he would go to his grave denying it. Vasquez reached up to adjust the blanket, letting his fingers run through the fringed edge. “You thinking about abandoning us for a more respectable career?”

Faraday snorted.

“Just trying to do you up proper,” he replied easily. “Fine a figure as I’m currently cutting, I thought you might like to match somewhat.”

“Have I been embarrassing you, cariño?” Vasquez asked, flashing that sweet, boyish grin.

“Endlessly,” Faraday assured with a wink, circling around to Vasquez’s back. He ran the fingers of one hand through Vasquez’s hair, the shears a solid, slick-edged weight against his other palm. “Now be still, sweetheart. I’d hate to take off an ear.”

“Piensas que estás tan divertido,” Vasquez muttered, though he tilted his head willingly when Faraday nudged him forward. A few of his curls were caught under the edge of the blanket, and Faraday liberated them with a gentle tug, running his thumb across the back of Vasquez’s neck and savoring the way he shivered at the touch.

“ _Still_ , darlin’,” Faraday reprimanded gently. Vasquez huffed a soft laugh and murmured something in slurry-edged Spanish that had the ring of apology to it.

Faraday gathered a few of the coils in his fingers, lifting them up and away and trying to settle the jitter in his belly warning him that this was a terrible idea. It was a trademark of Faraday’s reputation that all of his ideas were generally terrible, and with the exception of the time he very nearly blew himself to kingdom come, they mostly panned out fine in the end. He didn't see why something so simple as cutting hair ought to be any different.

 _Because this time it’s Vasquez who’ll be hurt if this goes awry,_ a small part of him provided gently.

He couldn't put a pin in precisely when that had started mattering. Any rules governing collateral damage had always been fairly malleable, in Faraday’s experience. The only law of the land by which Faraday had ever expended any true effort to abide was that children and women were innocent by default and therefore off-limits. The only trouble was that Faraday had known too many women in his life to trust the fairer sex as a whole and that children could be shockingly vicious. Hell, Faraday himself had been barely fourteen the first time he’d killed a man. Admittedly the circumstances had forced his hand somewhat but he knew better than most how little it took to rouse an otherwise gentle soul to violence. He hadn't paid any special mind to sparing wounds in the long years since - whether a cutting remark or a well-placed bullet - but the thought of causing undue pain to Vasquez in particular made something in his stomach lurch uncomfortably, not unlike the sour twist before the previous night’s whiskey made a second appearance.

Vasquez spoke suddenly, as though his reassurance had been summoned by Faraday’s tumultuous thoughts.

“You change your mind, guero?” he asked, voice a low, playful rumble. “Lose your nerve?”

“I never lost my nerve in my goddamn life and you know it,” Faraday grumbled, taking a small, settling breath and slipping his fingers through the loops at the top of the shears. He opened them up, settled the glossy ringlets against the sharp edge, and closed them again before he could second-guess himself. There was the cold whisper of metal on metal and three sweetly coiling curls slithered down to the floor, pooling against the roughshod wood in a dark twist of velvet shine.

“There,” Faraday said, affecting a confidence he didn't quite feel. “Ain’t so bad, is it?”

If Vasquez had cottoned to his bluff, he didn't mention it. Just made a soft, amused noise, and sighed, “Less talking, more cutting.”

Faraday obliged with a token murmur of discontent, tugging a few more of Vasquez’s curls up and laying them between the two gleaming blades of the shears. In the space of a handful of uncertain snips, slowly gaining confidence as he moved, Faraday fell into something of a rhythm. He didn't have much of a plan beyond assuring that the hair was short enough that it didn't get in Vasquez’s face, with the vague notion in the back of his mind that the final article was supposed to match somewhat from side to side. He took extra care not to touch the shears to Vasquez’s skin if he could help it, concerned that the chill edge of them might startle him into motion, provoke an accidental cut. He worked his way along Vasquez’s back, trimming until his hair hovered in short, waving tufts above his collar, brushing some of the shorn strands off and away as he went.

Getting around his ears was somewhat more difficult, Faraday forced to tuck them awkwardly out of the way every now and again. He pressed gently at the rough hinge of Vasquez’s jaw and did his best to ignore the sudden, heated swoop in his belly when Vasquez tilted his head without complaint, effectively baring his throat to Faraday at his side. The low warmth blossomed and unfurled, bleeding up into his ribs and making his chest tighten sweetly when he saw that Vasquez had his eyes closed, his long lashes trailing ink-dark streaks against his skin.

“Just about done, darlin’,” Faraday assured quietly. Vasquez made a low, nondescript noise of agreement without bothering to look up, and Faraday swallowed around the tender knot in his throat.

The next few moments seemed to speed by at the same time that they stretched on into eternity, Faraday methodically shearing off curl after curl, dropping little, gentle touches against Vasquez’s jaw, his temples, his cheeks when he needed him to move and murmuring the occasional reassuring aside. At the end of it all, Vasquez’s hair was still longer than it had been upon their first meeting, edges tufting up here and there where it twisted over the tops of his ears or curved along the arc of his cheekbone. It was messy and wild, yet, the untameable tangle just barely coaxed into something resembling order though by no means would there be any mistaking the work for a professional hand. It didn't flop uselessly into Vasquez’s eyes anymore, nor did it look hopelessly awful, which was a success by all of Faraday’s measures.

“There we go,” he announced, sliding the blanket off of Vasquez's shoulders and shaking it out onto the floor. “Respectable once more. Or mayhap for the first time.”

Vasquez snorted and rolled his eyes, standing and striding across the room to the little washbasin, the tarnish-speckled mirror set above it. He had to lean down a bit to get a decent view of himself, but he seemed pleased by what he found in his reflection, reaching up to ruffle his own curls for a second.

“Not bad, guero,” he said, turning to grin at Faraday across the little room. Faraday ducked his head, pretending that the praise hadn't sent a warm flush prickling across his bare cheeks. There was a small puddle of hair scattered around his feet.

“This,” he admitted, toeing absently at the little pile of dark curls with his much-abused boot, “I did not plan for.”

“I’m certain the lady of the house has a broom we can borrow,” Vasquez said easily. He stalked up behind Faraday, hooked his chin over Faraday’s shoulder and slipped his arms around Faraday’s waist. He leaned in to drop a kiss to Faraday’s cheek, jaw dragging rough against Faraday’s bare skin and sending gooseflesh prickling to life down the line of Faraday’s throat.

“You smell good,” he murmured, nosing at Faraday’s temple and kissing him again.

“Lilac water’ll do that,” Faraday breathed agreeably, twisting in Vasquez’s grasp until they were eye to eye, both of Vasquez’s broad palms curled over his hips. “You know,” he murmured thoughtfully, tucking his fingers over the waistband of Vasquez’s slacks, pressed up against the warm expanse of bare skin underneath, “it’s funny.”

Vasquez tilted his head, newly trimmed curls a halo of dark waves around his face, and leaned in to kiss him, sweet and tender, the sharp edge of his scruff pulling a thread of heat up through Faraday’s belly.

“What is, guero?” he asked, quiet and rough, breath warm against Faraday’s mouth. Faraday leaned back a little and let his grin go sharp at the edges, bright and puckish.

“I could swear I saw your very lovely sister in here just a minute ago,” he said, feigning confusion. “Only she appears to have disappeared.”

Vasquez snorted and reeled him in again, palm warm around the back of Faraday’s neck, fingers slipping up into his neatly trimmed hair.

“Tienes suerte que eres tan guapo, amor,” he warned teasingly.

“I know ‘guapo,’” Faraday said smugly, dipping his hand a little further down, flattening his palm over the low plane of Vasquez’s stomach and thrilling when Vasquez tensed at the touch. “It means handsome.”

“You know this one, too, cariño,” he murmured lowly, pressing in close enough that they would be hard-pressed to pass an envelope between them. He pressed a trail of hot, intent kisses along the line of Faraday’s jaw. “Te quiero joder.”

“I do know that one,” Faraday agreed, biting back a moan when Vasquez tugged his shirt free of his slacks, got his hands up against Faraday’s bare skin.

“Well?” Vasquez asked, voice gravel-rough and lilting playfully. He rocked his hips forward, holding Faraday still with a palm spanning the small of his back and grinning sharp when Faraday groaned at the contact. “¿Sí o no?”

Faraday yanked Vasquez closer still by the waistband of his trousers and got his other hand up into Vasquez’s freshly-shorn locks, long enough yet to tug in that way that made him suck a surprised little gasp past his teeth, dark eyes going impossibly darker. He smirked, fond and wicked, and leaned in close enough to bite.

“Sí, señorita.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations for you!
> 
>  **Está bien:** It's fine  
>  **Señorita:** young lady  
>  **Pendejo:** asshole  
>  **Piensas que estás tan divertido:** You think you're so funny  
>  **Tienes suerte que eres tan guapo, amor:** You're lucky you're so handsome, love  
>  **Te quiero joder:** I want to fuck you
> 
> Thanks so much for reading y'all!! 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Post-Credits Scene:**
> 
>  
> 
> “You got allergies or something?” 
> 
> Faraday glanced up to find Teddy Q peering at him curiously over top of the map they had lain across the table between them, a few delicate pencil marks delineating their best option to approach a cabin a few miles to the north - the last known hideout of a particularly volatile crew of bandits that had been terrorizing the surrounding area for months. He arched an eyebrow, confused.
> 
> “Not so far as I know,” he replied absently. “Why?”
> 
> Teddy’s frown deepened and he waved a hand in front of his chin, flapping it back and forth. 
> 
> “Your face is all red,” he explained.
> 
> Faraday considered this for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line while he did his best not to burst into hysterical laughter, embarrassed heat rising all through his face. Across the room, Vasquez made a strangled noise that might have been the bastard cousin of a laugh and devolved into a deeply unattractive coughing fit. Goody, sitting next to Faraday, had gone suspiciously still and silent while Billy, who was sharpening his knives on one of the narrow mattresses, very nearly developed a facial expression.
> 
> “What’s so funny?” Teddy asked suspiciously, glancing between Faraday and Vasquez like he was on the cusp of stumbling into an idea.
> 
> “Lilacs,” Faraday blurted. Teddy turned to stare at him.
> 
> “Lilacs?”
> 
> “Lilacs,” Faraday confirmed. “I’m highly allergic. I think they used them at the barber this morning.”
> 
> Beside him, Goody coughed.
> 
> “You _just_ said you weren't allergic to anything,” Teddy offered slowly.
> 
> “I lied,” Faraday said easily.
> 
> “But - “
> 
> “Hey, Teddy?” Faraday interrupted. Teddy frowned at him.
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Shut up.”


End file.
